


School Trek

by pseudopacificpariah



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - High School, Anger, Arguing, Gen, High School, Stress, Studying, teenage angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:00:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudopacificpariah/pseuds/pseudopacificpariah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>San Francisco. 1997. A trying frontier. These are the voyages of the frienships, formed inside the Enterprise. It's seemingly endless mission is to survive highschool. To graduate and begin life as an 'adult'. To boldly go where no one has gone before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction to: James Tiberius Kirk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James T Kirk is a genius slacker, who needs an attitude adjustment. He looks like a 'rebellious teenager', and has the reputation to match. An old family friend presents him with an offer he couldn't refuse. Or can he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part of an high school/college AU that I'm working on for Star Trek that takes place in the late 1990s (1997, to be specific). Actual chapters with content besides character establishment drabbles will be added when I write them, but for now I'm just adding individual character introductions so you can get a taste for each character/how I write them. And I'm always open to criticism, or any suggestions you may have about my writing!

“M’home,” Jim called to his empty house as he slammed the door behind him. It had become more of a habitual warning to whatever unlucky dweller of the Kirk residence might’ve found themselves alone and unsuspecting, rather than a friendly greeting. He threw his mostly empty bookbag on the floor, and made a beeline for the fridge. He pulled open the black doors, and a wave of cool air hit his shirt as he pulled out a mostly-empty orange juice carton, and shook it to gauge the contents. The doorbell rang as Jim began to down the rest of the orange juice. _Who the hell..._ Jim wondered, as he sauntered to the door, opening it with the carton still in hand.

“Hello, Jim. Your mom around?” the friendly and familiar face of Christopher Pike, and old friend of his late father, grinned at him from the other side of the screen door.

“Naw, uh... She probably went out for groceries or something...” He trailed off, knowing full well his mother was probably no where near groceries. But groceries sounded a lot more palatable than ‘avoiding her disappointing son’. “Uh, come in Uncle Chris.” He unlocked the screen door, taking the last swig of orange juice. “Want anything to drink?” He offered.

Pike chuckled, looking at the forlorn kitchen, “No thanks, son.”

“I’m sorry, Win-my mom’s not home. D’you want to leave a message or something?”

“Actually, Jim, I was hoping I could talk to you.” Pike leaned back onto the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

Jim’s brows knit together, slightly perturbed as why Pike would want to talk to the him. He hadn’t come around the house since Winona had a big falling out about Pike a couple months ago. “Sure, shoot.” He mumbled.

“You see, I’m moving soon-Did your mom tell you? I’m moving to San Diego in a couple weeks. Anyways, I’m moving and I’m trying to get rid of a bunch of items I can’t take with me, and don’t want to put into storage. Anyways, I know you’ve had your eye on that goddamn Volkswagen Vanagon Westfalia since the beginning of time. If you want it, it’s yours.”

Jim nearly dropped the carton out of shock from the news he was moving and that he wanted him to have the VW Vanagon, He’d loved that thing since he’d first laid eyes on it when he was seven. Silver, spacious, and in great condition. Pike hadn’t driven the thing since he’d been drafted back in ‘74.

“I’ll, I’ll uh, think about it.” He nodded nonchalantly, trying not to say yes to hastily while keeping his ‘cool guy’ composure.

“You do that, son. Anyways, I should be on my way,” He grinned, checking his wrist. “See you around, Jim.” Pike clapped Kirk on the shoulder and walked out the open door, closing it behind him.

“Shit...” Jim couldn’t help but grin as he run his fingers through his hair in disbelief. “Why’d I say I’d think about it?” He mumbled to himself as he shot the empty carton into the garbage can. _Oh right. Cos it’s a big ass van, and a van that quality and size demands and deserves to be filled with friends and fond memories. Two things which I severely lack._ He huffed, and slid to the floor against the fridge, covering his face with hands. “Oh man,” his low growl echoed through the kitchen, and a slightly-sadistic grin crept on his smug face.

A door slammed, jolting Kirk from his daze. “Why was Pike here? I saw him driving out as I was pulling in.” Winona demanded as she strut past him with not so much of a glance in his direction.

“Hello to you too, Winona.” Kirk rolled his eyes, and pushed himself up from the ground. “And nothing. He just wanted to talk to me about something.”

“Oh really?” She peeked around the corner, looking spektical. “What’s ‘something’?”

“Nothing.”

“Obviously it’s not nothing. It’s something.” She snapped, walking away from him again.

“When were you planning on telling me he was moving 8 hours away?” He called at her, arms crossed. She whipped her head around, eyes narrowed. “He’s only my uncle. I would like to know these things.” He uttered in an increasingly hostile tones.

“He’s not your uncle. He’s some jerk with a sense of entitlement to some kid he never raised. I don’t want you talking to him anymore, _James Tiberius_.” She used ‘James’ to irk him. She could never use simply ‘James’ because it somehow made an all too familiar connection to his father, who’d named him while he was still in the womb. ‘James Tiberius’ eased that pain a little for her, reminding herself that Jim was not his father’s son, just a product of him. If he was George’s son, he’d shut up. Jim began to get red in the face; his mouth taunt, his eyes furious. She couldn’t take away the one man who actually gave a damn about him, he wouldn’t let her.

“Bullshit. He gave a fuck about me, when you didn’t. He’s more of a parent than you ever were. And I turn 18 a few months, I don’t have to listen to you then.” He spat in her direction, trying to keep his anger at bay.

“Then I don’t have to take this abuse.” She grabbed her jacket that she’d just thrown over the banister, and threw it over her shoulder. She glared at her son again, a spitting image of her late husband, with swollen red eyes and stomped out the door, crashing the door into the frame once again.

Jim clenched and un-clenched his fists, as he waited for the all-too-familiar violent roar of her car to become only a docile hum in the background of the neighbourhood’s noise. “Run away like you always do, mom.” His voice tightened like his fists as he suppressed a blood boiling cocktail of self-hatred, abhorrence, and disorientation. Fuming, he grabbed his own jacket, fake ID, and the keys to his shitty motorbike. “I need a drink.” He muttered to himself. Even if someone else was there, it’s not like they would’ve listened anyways.


	2. Introduction to: Grayson Spock (Spock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grayson Spock finds himself plagued by the woes of senior year. Mixed with his own fascination with his strange emotional absence, and the almost overbearing concern that his parents have for him, he begins to feel alone and unable to cope with his surroundings. So to seek out companionship in some of his classmates would seem only... Logical?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, more character development! Also Grayson=Spock. I just flipped it around from what I was going to name Spock (Spock Grayson) to a more 'Terran' sounding name (Grayson Spock) at the advice of some of my lovely followers. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'm sorry it took so long! Critique welcomed!

 

The water enveloped his sense as he counted backwards. 6... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... He gasped for air as he came up from under the surface of the tub, his hair molded directly to the shape of his scalp. He breathed in, and went under again, counting down from 15. When he reached one, he broke the surface again, and took steady, reassuring breaths. There were 4 sharp knocks, as his mother rapped on the door.

“Grayson? Grayson, honey, it’s been 35 minutes. Are you okay in there?”

He hesitated for a moment as he made his voice even, “Yes mother, I am fine. There is no need to worry.”

“Okay... Maybe you should come out soon. You’ve been in there awhile.” He could tell she was close to the door, maybe even had her ear pressed up on it. Trying to hear every break of minuscule wave in the bathtub, every drip of the faucet, every breath Grayson Spock took. Making sure that he took another breath.

“Yes, mother. I will be out momentarily.” He agreed, pulling the stopper and crossing his legs to conserve the last of the humid warmth that the water allowed. He sat in the bath until the last swirl of water made its way round drain.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, intently boring into his own eyes and wondered if maybe the person staring back at him held at least some sort of emotionally capability. Why doesn’t this bother you. Why can’t you feel. Why are you unaffected. He thought to himself; not bitterly, but inquiringly. He noticed beads of red forming below his nostrils, soon dripping into the sink. He pinched his nose, unsurprised by it. Nosebleeds to him had become a regular sign of stress and anxiety, two things he felt often. He wrapped himself carefully in a towel, with one hand still on his nose. Something resisted, and let out a small noise as he opened the door on his mother.

“Oh dear, Grayson! What happened!” His mother, Amanda, seemed more concerned than before now, seeing her son pinching his nose.

“It’s nothing to worry about, mother. I presume it is due to stress. I have an important exam in Physics tomorrow; perhaps that is the is the cause of my nose bleed.” He offered, trying to soothe her nervousness.

She bit her lower lip, and furrowed her brow in a skeptical-but-accepting manner. “Okay... But if it gets worse, let me know?”

“I am not 5 mother, I can handle this myself.”

“Fair enough,” She sighed, “Anyways, study then get to bed. Physics exam, you say? You’ll do great.” She smiled briefly, and walked down the steps towards the living room where he heard more banter about his ‘condition’ between his parents.

Spock pinched the bridge of his nose and turned into his doorway, and closed it quietly behind him. Again, in privacy, he began to exam his face in a mirror; as if his emotional vacancy could be diagnosed by a symptom on his face. Spock found his own emotional vacancy intriguing, rather than worrisome. He looked at it more objectively to try and analyse the situation, rather than become upset by it; which, ironically, is an emotional response. He had people like his mother and father to be upset by his cool and constantly calculating composure instead.  

Once the bleeding had finally stopped, and a small mountain of red-spotted tissues now lay in and around his garbage can, he sat at his desk as he gleaned over his notes from previous lessons. Terms, equations, and theories teemed in his mind as he separated the valuable from the invaluable. As he read through the material, his mind wandered and he concluded that a reasonable source of his nosebleeds were indeed from his constant array of examinations. He found himself in the midst of his senior year and preparing to apply to colleges all over the country, with high marks to maintain. School had only started recently, but had become a burden quickly. He routinely flipped the pages of his notes, comparing and contrasting the handwritten words with the printed ones in the text.

He glanced at the clock’s face, and found it later than he’d expected. He would have no time to sleep, as he didn’t have a free block the next day; he would have filled it with more studying anyways. As he packed away his things, there was a knock on his door.. “Come in, it is open.” He replied absentmindedly.

“Grayson, your mother said you had another nosebleed today.” His father, Sarek, entered.

“Yes. I did. I took care of it though. See.” He nodded to his garbage can, as he sit still facing where his books were on his desk instead of his father. He swivelled to face Sarek. “It is late, why do you address these concerns now?”

“Because it is late. Grayson, I have noticed that you have been staying up later and later for the past few weeks, and school has only started. Are you okay?”

“I am fine.” He responded quickly, “I just wanted to review last unit’s materials for tomorrow’s exam. It is mainly just a refresher from the previous level, I should do fine. I do not have a free block tomorrow, but I have study hall. I shall st-”

“Then why are you up so late, Grayson? This is becoming a habit with you. Please, go to bed.” Sarek interjected.

Spock pressed his lips into a thin line, “I shall. Goodnight, father.”

“Good night, Grayson.” He didn’t smile, but the departure  not necessarily cold in Spock’s mind. Or, as cold as it could be. Perhaps, if emotions were hereditary, Grayson had inherited them from his father. Even more cool and collected, but seemingly more human than him.

Yet even though the exchange had been mainly pleasant, Spock felt empty. He didn’t feel the familiar ‘father and son’ bond that they once had. The conversation was minimal, and only to express (yet again) the parental concern they had for him. Spock couldn’t remember when the last time was the he and his father had talked about anything other than Sarek’s concern for him, or school. As he contemplated the sparse recreation interaction that they had, Spock began to feel something definite. Infallible. It was an unpleasant feeling, that ached in the pit of his stomach. It was loneliness. It was the realization that he had made it through almost 12 years of schooling, and had never once had a stable relationship outside of his parents, and even that was beginning to falter in his mind.

He tried to remember something that would fill this gaping hole that had opened up, but no memories came to mind. It was that moment where he felt even more vulnerable than he had felt in the tub, only hours prior. And it was that moment where he realized he needed someone. He needed to feel something other than the warm water enveloping him.


End file.
